


Sick Day

by SoongTypeDisaster



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Chicken Soup, Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Other, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26020504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoongTypeDisaster/pseuds/SoongTypeDisaster
Summary: You start feeling ill while on duty and get dismissed to rest, only to have an unexpected visitor come to check on you.
Relationships: Data & Reader, Data (Star Trek)/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 92





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> My only excuse is that I am feeling a little under the weather myself and wanted some fluff.

The lights were low in your quarters to stave off what was proving to be the beginnings of a horrible, throbbing headache. You’d been dismissed from your shift early – according to the lieutenant on duty you were looking a little green, and in a human, that wasn’t exactly a sign of good health. By the time you’d gotten out of your uniform you had started to really feel it, the momentum of work no longer propping you up on your feet. Now, collapsed in your bed in your most comfortable pajamas, you were shivering in spite of having adjusted the environmental controls three times at least.

Sleep refused to come, but you were too worn out to get up, so instead your mind was rolling over every possible exposure you might have had. You didn’t feel seriously ill, so you were not inclined to clog up sickbay with your presence. You supposed, though, if it wasn’t gone in 24 hours…

You weren’t sure how long you drifted in and out before the door chimed. You grumbled something nonverbal in response at first, and it chimed again.

“Whoizzit?”

Yeah. That sounded coherent.

“It is Data. Lieutenant Druthers advised that you did not report to your shift, and as you have not yet reported to sickbay I offered to check in on your condition.”

Oh. Fantastic. The Second Officer of the Enterprise was coming to check in on you like some kind of delinquent. It wasn’t like you knew each other well. Worked on the same project a couple of times, sure. Exchanged a few words here and there. But then, you’d heard that the android remembered everything. But… hadn’t reported for your shift? At some point you must have fallen asleep, then.

“May I enter?” The voice, relayed over the comm system as clearly as if he stood inside the door, sounded uncertain.

You weren’t so certain yourself, but you couldn’t think of a reason to deny him. “Er, I guess. Sure.”

You tried to sit up as the doors hissed open, the throbbing in your head forcing you back down. God how long had you been asleep, anyway? Your mouth was dry, your face felt puffy. You had definitely sounded hoarse just now. Great. So you’d picked up a hellish case of the sniffles on that last away mission.

Quiet footsteps moved around your quarters, searching. You tried to croak out a quick “in here” but it came out a cough instead. Either way, it had the intended effect. The android’s head poked around the door frame that led to your bedroom. He didn’t even ask about the lights. You wondered, then, if he could see in such dim light. He probably could. Or if he couldn’t, he wasn’t complaining.

“You are ill.” It wasn’t a question. “You should see Doctor Crusher.” Also not a question. You wrestled with the blankets a moment and made a noise of negation, trying to stop him before he made for the comm panel. He paused at this, head tilted, waiting. When no answer came, he took a step closer to your bed. “You… do not wish to go to sickbay? Why?”

The question came without judgment. Strangely, there was only curiosity in his voice. You remembered now. He was interested in human behavior. You supposed it seemed pretty nonsensical to him that you would refuse care. Slowly, carefully, you made the attempt to sit up again. “It’s not that bad. I figured I wouldn’t bother anybody unless it didn’t go away on its own. Sickbay’s been pretty busy lately anyway, what with that last rescue…” There had been a ship adrift a few days ago. Lots of survivors, but they had all beamed aboard in rough shape. Last you’d heard from one of your friends over in medical, they were still getting to treatments and it was taking a bit of time. At least nobody was in serious condition anymore, but you didn’t want to add to the workload unless you really had to.

Data seemed to accept the excuse, although he was still looking at you with some concern. “Have you eaten? It is my understanding that when ill, it is important to have proper nourishment.”

You blinked a few times. You had, quite honestly, been expecting him just to either report back to Druthers on your condition or haul you off to sickbay. Had expected him to leave after he heard your excuse. But he was waiting for an answer. “No. No I’ve been uh…” you ran a hand through your hair. Messy. “I’ve been in bed this whole time.” You started to shift again, thinking you had better haul yourself over to the food slot. Data held up a hand.

“Clearly you require rest. I will bring you something.” He took a few steps away, then paused. “It is my understanding that for many humans, chicken soup is a traditional comfort food when one has a respiratory illness. Would this be acceptable?”

Again it took you a moment to respond. You had only ever seen Data in a professional setting before now. You had never paused to wonder if he had a nurturing side. Nevertheless, it would seem that he did. “Yeah… yeah soup is fine,” you said finally. If he thought anything of the pause, he didn’t voice it, instead disappearing from view to replicate a bowl of soup.

By the time he returned – with a tray no less – you had managed to sit up a little further, back against the wall for support. Data set the tray carefully over your lap, hesitated, then seemingly as an afterthought reached to fluff up the pillows behind you. The action was so deliberate and focused you might have suspected he had gotten it from a book somewhere, and never actually tried it before himself. Meanwhile you were now leaned over the bowl, shakily grabbing at the spoon and not having much luck. You got the thing to your mouth but most of the soup spilled out along the way.

You tried to get a better grip on the spoon and instead sent it flying, nearly knocking the tray off your lap as well as you instinctively tried to catch it. But the spoon never hit the floor, and the tray steadied. It took you a moment to register what had happened, as the motion had been too fast for your eyes to follow. Data held your spoon in one hand, stilling the tray with the other. “Perhaps,” he said, yellow eyes fixed on yours, “I should assist you.”

You could think of no words of protest, and a comforting weight settled next to you on the edge of the bed, one arm reaching around your shoulders to steady you, the other hand still holding the spoon. Was he really going to—?

The spoon, now steady, rose to your lips. You must have looked confused, because the android’s head tilted again. “I believe the mimicry of shuttle noises is only appropriate when feeding small children.” You laughed then, threatening to dislodge the tray all over again. Data looked utterly baffled. “This is… amusing?” He actually sounded hopeful.

“It – yes, it is a little.” Finally you accepted the spoon, a little embarrassed at the need for help. “Look, you really don’t have to—”

Data looked at you with a critical eye, causing you to clam up again. Alright. He had a point. Usually when somebody doesn’t need help, they don’t accidentally send spoons flying across the room and almost spill entire bowls of soup in their lap. He resumed his assistance in silence, and you accepted it without further complaint.

It became less embarrassing after a moment or so, at which point you realized it was actually rather comforting. You hadn’t really had anybody to care for you when you were sick since you’d left home. Sure you could go to sickbay, get treatment. But it wasn’t quite the same as having somebody fuss over you in your own home. Silly little domestic things that meant the world. With Data’s help you finished your soup, managing to pick up the bowl and drink the last of the broth on your own. At your own insistence he helped you up so you could brush your teeth and fix your hair, though he was quite convinced he should be permitted to help you with the latter. He stood patiently outside the bathroom as you washed up, then helped you back to your bed.

You hadn’t been tucked in since you were a child but he insisted on doing that as well, gently pulling the covers around you and leaning down for a moment, thinking better of it, then giving you a friendly pat on the head instead. As you drifted off to sleep you thought you heard him say he would remain nearby in case you needed anything, but it might have been the beginnings of a dream.


End file.
